As I pull away from him, Dag licks his lips and gives me a look so animalistic that it sends shivers down my spine and not in a good way. When I take a quick look over my shoulder, I see Jack decked out in dark wash low-rise jeans, a white Henley t-shirt and well-worn black leather jacket. The only way I can describe the look he’s now shooting our way is lethal. Like the old saying goes, ‘If looks could kill, Dag would be one dead son of a bitch.’ Well, that’s not exactly how the saying goes, but you get the picture. His eyes soften a little as he locks his gaze on me, but he quickly revs the engine on his bike and takes off without saying a word. I watch the taillight of his motorcycle disappear at the end of the street.
“Let’s take your car, babe. I actually got one of my associates to drop me off. Hope you don’t mind,” he says.
“Actually, that’s awesome. I didn’t want to leave my baby here over night,” I say, rubbing the hood of my car.
“Yeah, she’s a pretty sweet ride. Can’t say I blame you there. Want me to drive, chica?”
“That she is, Dag. As for you driving her, let me think about it. Umm, thought about it, and the answer’s no. Nobody drives my car, but me,” I tell him in a joking manner, but really I’m telling it like it is. I don’t trust anyone driving my car, not even Ella, and I love that bitch.
“Okay, babe, you drive. Makes it easier for my hands to explore,” he says, wiggling his fingers. Fuck, I never thought about that. Dag’s a little hands-on, if you know what I mean.
We both get into the car, and when I start the engine, the song, “Feels So Real” by Eden’s Edge is just starting to play on the radio. The lyrics stir up memories of Jack and me, and that’s not what I want to be thinking about when I’m with Dag, so I turn that shit off pronto. He gives me directions to his place, and as I drive there, I’m thinking about all of the things that I have to do on my next day off: grocery shopping, bathroom cleaning, bill paying, bikini waxing, etc. My mental list distracts me from all the groping Dag’s doing.
When we get to his place, Dag doesn’t even take the time to give me the grand tour. Hell no, the man drags me directly to his bedroom—where he thinks he gives me the best time of my life. Oh boy, if he only fucking knew about my Oscar winning performances, and I think tonight I won two awards.
After our romp in the sack, Dag’s obviously tired and immediately falls asleep. Taking advantage of his unconsciousness, I get up out of the bed, retrieve my clothes, and re-dress. I leave his apartment and start my car, but before I back out of the driveway, I sit there for a minute and think of the situation I’ve gotten myself into. Can I really make this work to my advantage? I don’t know, but I’m sure willing to give it a try.
I back out of the driveway and look both ways before pulling out onto the street. Coast is clear. About a minute later, I see a single headlight in my rearview mirror. My stomach does an excited little flutter. Is it Jack? I wonder. Surely, it’s a coincidence, and it’s some other biker. Why would someone who just wants me as a fuck-buddy be trailing me after I left the bed of another man? The motorcycle continues to follow me the whole drive to my house, but keeps going when I pull into my driveway. I release a breath, but I don’t know if it’s due to relief or disappointment. I get out of my car and lock the doors. Once inside the house, I take my usual scrub-the-skin-off-of-me shower, get ready for bed, and seriously crash hard.
* * *
It’s been a week since making the deal with Dag, and I’ve made sure that we’ve been constantly spotted in PDA. I’m working a day shift today, which I hate to do because it’s dead customer-wise and horrible tip-wise. Today I’m wearing a black loose fitting Pulse t-shirt that I’ve tied in a knot at my waist showing my belly again, and I cut the neck out of it so it’s hanging off one of my shoulders: think Flashdance. I’m wearing it with my faded and ripped, low-rise, hip-hugging jeans, and well-worn black cowboy boots.
I have my back to the club as I restock some of the bottles at the main bar, when suddenly the hairs on my neck stand on end. Goddamn it! Only one person on Earth gets that reaction from me. He’s back. I turn around to face Jack, looking even more gorgeous, if that’s possible.
He’s standing with his jean-clad hip leaning against the front of the bar, wearing a gray t-shirt that fits snugly, showing off all of his toned muscles. I take a look down at his arms and feel a flash of heat go through my body as I study the sexy tattoos, wishing I could see the ones on his chest, ribs, and back, too. Mmm. Jack shirtless. The sound of him clearing his throat makes me look back up at his handsome face.
“Payton,” he greets, giving me a slight nod and an I-know-you-were-checking-me-out grin.
“Jack,” I return. “Can I get you something?” I ask.
His grin pulls wider. “Only thing I want is you,” he drawls, leaning in toward me. The sound of his deep, seductive voice sends welcomed tingles to my southern regions, making me want to climb over the bar and mount him.
“Jack we’re not doing this. I have a boyfriend, remember?” I remind him.
“Didn’t seem like you had a boyfriend last week, when I was making you come on my tongue and fingers.” Oh hell no, he didn’t just say that! “Do you even know anything about this fuckwad you’re involved with?” he asks.
Jack renders me speechless for a minute, which is highly unusual. I finally get my wits about me again, but before I can say anything, Dag makes an appearance and takes a seat at the bar. Jack just glares at him, turns, and walks away without saying another word. And God help me, I can’t help but notice how fantastic his ass looks in his faded jeans. Snap out of it, Payton. You have to convince him that Dag’s your boyfriend, remember?
“Hey baby,” I purr, knowing Jack’s still within hearing distance. “I missed you.” I grab Dag by the collar of his button up shirt and pull him over the bar, slamming my mouth against his. His hand cups the back of my head, pressing our mouths closer together. As our tongues explore each other’s mouths, I feel Jack’s eyes on us. Not breaking the kiss, I open my eyes and look in the direction in which Jack just walked away. He’s sitting at a table in the corner, while a server takes his drink order. The whole time he’s interacting with her, his eyes are on Dag and me. One of his hands lays tightly coiled on the table, and I notice a tick in his jaw.
Dag pulls back, breaking the kiss and sits back on his barstool. “Who the fuck’s that?” he asks, looking a little pissed.
“Nobody, just a customer.”
“Don’t know if I like the way he’s eyeballing you.”
“Dag, seriously, lots of guys look at me that way. I work at a dance club, and I’m hot. Of course, guys are going to look at me.”
“Not like this guy. There’s something different about him. He isn’t just eye-fucking you like the rest of the guys here. Don’t like it. I should go over and kick his fucking ass,” he says, looking back at Jack. As if you could try.
“Let it go. He’s nobody,” I say, trying to convince him and myself at the same time.
Juan comes around the back of the bar, and I introduce Dag as my boyfriend, in hopes that Jack’s overhearing it. Juan gives a clipped, “Nice to meet you,” and leaves again. What the hell’s that about? He seemed very much on edge around Dag.
“Do you know Juan?” I enquire.
“I’ve seen him around town, but I don’t know him. Why?”
“I don’t know. He seemed nervous around you for some reason.”
Dag shrugs my concerns off and orders a Coors. I get Dag his beer, and he continues to hang around for a couple of hours, which honestly started to annoy the fuck out of me after about ten minutes. Jack only hung around long enough to finish his drink, but the whole time he was here his eyes never left me.
Chapter 5
Nightmare
Over the next two weeks, Dag and I spend a lot of time together in and out of his bed. He gets what he wants from me in the bedroom, and I get what I want from him outside of the bedroom. I’ve seen Jack often, as he’s becoming a fix
ture at the bar since that first night we reconnected. He hasn’t approached me since the night at the bar with Dag, but I’m all too aware of his presence. I make sure I take those opportunities and really play up my relationship with Dag. Seriously, how long will it take for him to get the hint that I’m not interested in him anymore? Yeah, right. I can’t even convince myself.
Even though our relationship’s pretend, I sometimes enjoy hanging out with Dag, when he’s not completely annoying the fuck out of me. Then one day I come home from getting my hair cut and styled and my nails redone and notice Dag’s white Escalade parked in my driveway. When I walk into the house, I don’t see him anywhere. I hear a noise coming from upstairs, so I head in that direction.
“Dag. You here?” I call out.
“Yeah, babe. In your room.” What the fuck. How’d he get in here?
Walking into my bedroom, I see Dag sprawled out on my modern style sleigh bed, thankfully, fully clothed. “Umm. How’d you get in here?” I ask, scowling. I don’t like the fact that he’s been invading my personal space. Not fucking cool!
“One of your roomies let me in before she left for work,” he answers. I’m going to have to talk to them about that. Before sitting on the edge of the bed, my eyes travel around the room, trying to see if anything’s out of order, but everything looks in its place.
My bedroom’s definitely more my style than the rest of the house. It’s modern, but still cozy. I completely redecorated it when I moved in, and I love it. It’s my favorite room in the house. Three walls are painted chocolate brown, and one accent wall is painted an apple green. My furniture’s all a deep walnut finish, and the room is decorated in accents of green, cream, and a lighter shade of brown. My bed’s covered in a fluffy, silky green and brown duvet with tons of decorative pillows. The accent wall has all my family photos displayed on it, so that they’re always near me. I take great comfort in that. And knowing that Dag’s in my private sanctuary does not make me a happy girl.
“Dag, I can’t have you just making yourself at home in my room. Whatever this is between us isn’t a real relationship, and we need to set some boundaries as to what’s cool and what’s not. And I’m telling you straight up that it’s not cool being in my house and room when I’m not here. Don’t let it happen again,” I warn him.
“That’s cool, babe. I didn’t think you’d mind. I just wanted to surprise you when you got back. Wanted to fuck you in your bed. It’s probably the only place that I haven’t fucked you yet.”
Shit! Reluctantly, I crawl over his body and straddle him, pulling my tank top over my head. Dag slides his hands across my ribcage to my back and pulls me down to his chest, taking my mouth with his. I lean over to my nightstand and grab a condom from the drawer and do exactly what he wants and fuck him in my bed.
* * *
During school today, Jarod Peters, fellow high school senior, linebacker of our school’s football team, and the guy that I’ve been crushing on for the past year, told me that he’d really like to meet up with me at Krissy Smith’s party tonight. So here I am, hanging out in the kitchen with a bunch of other classmates, sipping on a beer waiting for him to show up. It’s been a few months, but Ella still isn’t feeling up to going to any parties so soon after the accident. She encouraged me to come tonight because she knows how much I like Jarod. As a rule, I’d never do this, as we always follow the buddy system.
When I hear cheering erupt through the house, I know the football team has arrived. Before leaving the kitchen, I check myself over in the reflection of the French door windows: hair and makeup in order (check); cute little heels (check); short denim mini skirt (check); off the shoulder black top that shows just enough of my stomach to drive a boy crazy (check). Yep, I think I look pretty freaking fantastic.
I move from the kitchen where the keg’s set up and head toward the shouts coming from the living room. Sure enough, the whole team’s there fist bumping and high-fiving everyone as they congratulate them on the game they’d won earlier today. I bypassed the game this afternoon. Though I’m in love with a football player, doesn’t mean I’m in love with the sport.
Jarod looks up from his throng of fans and makes eye contact with me. God, he’s the sexiest thing ever with his coal black hair, deep blue eyes, and hard athletic body. Noticing me checking him out, his eyes go dark and intense as he pushes past people making his way toward me. “Hey, babe, you made it,” he says, huskily, making me blush. God, my teenage hormone-riddled body just wants to jump him and lose my virginity already.
“Yeah,” I say, biting my lower lip nervously. His eyes fall on my mouth and his hand moves up, pulling my lip from my teeth and tangling in my hair, tilting my head up. His mouth comes down on mine, and his teeth are replacing my teeth, biting on my bottom lip. His tongue then spears open my mouth, and he gives me one of the deepest kisses I’ve ever experienced. Shut the front door! Jarod Peters is French kissing me! If I died now, I’d die a very happy girl. Breaking the kiss, he softly asks into my ear, “Want another drink?” I’m pretty much speechless, so I just nod in response. Jarod leaves me in the living room and heads to the kitchen. Finally, after the longest five minutes of my life, he returns carrying two red plastic cups and hands one over to me.
“Here you go, gorgeous. Drink up.”
I start sipping slowly on the beer because I don’t really drink that much, and I don’t want to get too drunk tonight. When I start to lower the cup, Jarod pushes it back up to my lips and encourages me to drink it all. He watches intently while I finish off my beer. When he sees that I have emptied my cup, he takes it from my hand and throws it on the floor along with his. He then stands behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and sways us to the music. I can feel him getting hard, pressing his erection against my backside.
As his hands gently stroke up and down my sides, one makes a detour to the edge of my shirt, gently caressing the skin on my stomach, pressing me farther into his hardness. I should feel a little turned on by this because, after all, it’s Jarod, but I start feeling extremely dizzy and sleepy instead. I’m finding it hard to keep my eyes open and start thinking something’s seriously wrong with me. I’m not entirely sure, but I think the last thing I remember hearing before passing out is Jarod growling into my ear, “Gonna fuck you so good, babe.”
I feel pressure on my chest and then feel something pressing between my legs. My eyes flutter open, and I see a naked Jarod on top of my naked body, and he’s gripping his erection trying to guide it into me. “Jarod, what’re you doing? Get off of me!” I scream, moving my arms to his chest, trying to push him off me. He doesn’t budge.
“Come on, Payton. You know you want it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve looked at me over the past year. Admit it. You want this as fucking much as I do.”
“No, I don’t want it. I’m a virgin. Please stop,” I plead with him. I did want it, but not like this. Something feels wrong about the whole situation. I’m sure he’ll stop now that he knows I’m not feeling this with him and let me up.
“Not gonna happen. We won the game tonight, and we’re horny as hell and want to celebrate. You’re gonna help us celebrate.” It takes a minute for my brain to register what he’s saying. Wait, hold up. Did he just say ‘we’ and ‘us’? As I’m thinking this, I feel two sets of hands grabbing my limbs. One pair is holding my wrists above my head and the other’s holding my ankles, keeping my legs spread. I look up and down and see two of his teammates, Andy Brooks and Ozzy Pike, gripping me. They, too, are naked. I start thrashing, but my weak limbs are useless against three large muscular athletes.
I open my mouth to scream for help, but Jarod stuffs a sock in my mouth to muffle my screams. “No one’s gonna hear you over the music, bitch!” he snarls at me. Then with one sharp, stabbing thrust of his hips, he rips away my virginity. I scream out in pain, but like he said, no one hears my pleas for help. “Shit! Bitch is tight,” he informs his buddies.
I lay there, choking on sobs
as Jarod’s body ruts against me until he finds his release. I hear him grunt into my ear and feel his body shudder, then still. He pulls out of me, trading places with Andy, who climbs on top of me and bites one of my nipples so hard that he draws blood. He licks the blood away, removes the sock from my mouth and kisses me, so that I can taste my own blood on his mouth. I try to bite his tongue, but he pulls back and replaces the sock. He too forces himself into my already abused sex and starts the process of getting himself off. I think I’m in shock and having an outer body experience because I’ve stopped crying and am no longer struggling. I figure if I lay still, it’ll be over sooner rather than later.
“Fuck, I’m coming!” Andy yells out as he climaxes. He stays inside me for a couple of minutes then says to Ozzy, “Oz, dude, you’re up next.”
“Am I ever up,” Ozzy responds, stroking his erection before he and Andy swap positions. I cry out in pain around the sock in my mouth as he brutally rams into my body. “Dude, you’re right. She’s super fucking tight—even after you two dickheads reamed her with your huge cocks,” he says, laughter filling the room. He fucks into my body so hard, I hear the headboard knocking against the wall. When this happens, I hear someone in the next room banging on the wall and shouting, “Sounds like someone’s having a good time!”
Knowing that someone’s so close, I scream out as loud as I can with a sock in my mouth. “Shut her the fuck up!” Jarod hisses. I see Ozzy ball his hand into a fist, and he punches me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me.
“Shut it. So help me fucking god, you don’t want to see what happens if you don’t,” he warns. I keep quiet as he continues his frantic pace, trying to reach his own release. “Oh, shit!” he grunts, and his body slumps over mine. The other two release my wrists and ankles as Ozzy slowly pulls out of me and rises up off of the bed.
Sweet Ride Page 5